Lampadaires Sous la Pluie
by xuantime
Summary: Yuuri is an elite, the best of the Time Arbitrators. As the youngest member of the formidable Scythes Squadron, he swears loyalty to the all-encompassing Organization. At least until whispers of a silver haired man and long-buried secrets reach his ears. Even shadows can hide in light, and as the cold truth reveals itself, so can forbidden questions.
1. Prolouge

"Please! Teach me how to use the Lapse!"

Yuuri's request comes out breathy and impatient, and he knows it. The tinge of desperation that clings to the air is almost tangible; matching the dirty clouds that hang heavily in the brisk autumn sky. The room is dark, and only fuzzy outlines of antique armchairs are visible to the human eye.

Neither Yuuri nor the old man he speaks to is human.

Both inhabitants of the room can see fine embroidery stitched into large velvet curtains and numerous porcelain teacups scattered across a dainty dresser.

"No," the old man replies. The man stretches his arm and grabs a teapot. With a steady hand, he quickly pours a steaming liquid into two cups. After taking a sip, the old man gestures at Yuuri and raises an eyebrow.

"Well?"

Yuuri picks up the teacup and downs it all in one go. He sets the cup down and stares directly into the eyes of the old man.

"Why not?"

The old man sighs and then also sets down his cup.

"Youngsters nowadays," the man grumbles. "When I was your age I had to climb three mountains every day for a year and a half before my teacher even thought about letting me hold a pair of scissors, let alone a Time Scythe."

Then, in the blink of an eye, the old man raises his eyebrow again and, with a flick of his wrist, aims a long needle at Yuuri's face.

Yuuri steps to the side in an almost imperceptible manner, and the needle flies past his ear; impaling a stray teacup that sat on top of a low shelf.

"You're a quick one," the old man cackles. "Alright then, I'll humor you. What do you want?"

Yuuri clenches his jaw.

"Train me. Show me how to use the Lapse."

The old man's face drains of its mirth, and his long white hair brushes the side of his face he slowly shakes his head.

"I have already said no."

"It is all I want."

"Look here boy," the old man says. "I commend you for having the guts and resources to actually find me. But I will not, _will not_ , teach you to use that damn Lapse. You're fourteen at best, what will you do?"

"I need the Lapse," Yuuri whispers. "I'm not anything right now. I need to be better than this. I don't have anything but if I had the Lapse-!"

Yuuri's voice grows louder and louder until he's close to screaming.

"Please, Clockmaster! You can teach it to me!"

The old man, the _Clockmaster_ , stands up and grabs Yuuri by the shoulders with trembling hands.

"Is this because of that blasted new Junior Promotion Program?"

"What?"

"Answer me!" The Clockmaster snarls. "Is this because of the Junior Promotion Program?"

Seconds tick by until Yuuri mumbles a reluctant 'yes'.

The Clockmaster yanks his hands away from Yuuri and turns to face two arching windows. It's raining heavily now, with lightning flashing across the sky.

"You don't need the Lapse," the Clockmaster says. "What would a kid like you do with Class A techniques anyways? You don't even have the tools to activate a Lapse. Besides," the Clockmaster turns around and looks at Yuuri. "you're a Time Arbitrator. It doesn't matter if you get a promotion now or in the next century. It's not like you'd ever run out of time."

"You don't understand!" Yuuri wrings his hands together and stares down at the plush carpet.

"This is for me! If I never show new skills- never show talent- then it won't matter how much time I have. I'm disposable! A dime-a-dozen Arbitrator that the Organization could replace without a moment's hesitation."

Yuuri gasps for air and struggles to keep his voice even. "You're my last hope, Clockmaster. I know I'm not much but please. Please."

The quiet desperation that was once in the air now blankets over them, smothering the two figures under a layer of misplaced hope. The Clockmaster can't help but pity the boy.

"I'm sorry," he begins. His tone is heavy, and his age finally shows through the bitter expression on his face. "You're much too young to have to worry about inter-organizational politics. You have promise; just not experience. Be patient Yuuri."

In that instant, the Clockmaster seems like a very old, very weary man.

"We all know that prominence is to rock as talent is to scissors. You do have talent Yuuri, but you can't cut your way through the ranks with skill alone."

Yuuri lifts his head and fixes his eyes, brown and piercing, on the Clockmaster.

"You did it. You patented the Lapse, all on your own, at the age of nineteen. You rose through the ranks, all on your own. You did it!"

"That was a long time ago."

The Clockmaster pauses and says, "I was young then. And boy?"

"Yes?" Yuuri replies.

"That was before the Organization destroyed the only thing that made me happy. My son."

Yuuri doesn't know what to say to that. Nothing and no one had ever mentioned the Clockmaster's _son_.

"Bet you didn't see that one coming, did you?"

The Clockmaster laughs, but it's harsh and grating- nothing like the exuberant sound Yuuri had heard before.

"But never mind that," the Clockmaster dismisses. "There's no love lost between the Organization and me, and I'd hate for those bastards to sink their claws into you. Be patient and train your mind and body; you'll be popular enough to catch their attention soon."

"Then what am I supposed to do? You tell me to be patient and train but what does that even mean? I'm not a goddamn movie protagonist! I don't know _how_ to train!"

Yuuri hates boiling feelings of hopelessness but he's clueless. Without guidance he's nothing.

"You dumb kid."

The Clockmaster groans and reaches up to ruffle Yuuri's hair.

"Arbitrators exist solely to fix errors in space-time, and in the space-time of universes other than Universe One. You idiots exist to help the world, not to cause drama. Go home, Yuuri. Go enrolling in advanced courses or something and practice. And for the love of all that's good, take some assignments and work your way up. You can't expect to stop a mass genocide if you can't even prevent a minor traffic collision."

"You know," Yuuri says. "You're an Arbitrator too, Clockmaster."

The Clockmaster quirks his lips and slaps Yuuri on the back, causing the boy's glasses to fly off his face.

"I'm retired. But you get the point now, kid?" The Clockmaster asks. "You aren't nothing, you just have incredibly low self-esteem. Work on that."

Yuuri takes a step closer to the Clockmaster and swoops his upper body down in a deep bow.

"Thank you."

The Clockmaster smiles and says, "I look forward to the day you beat the Organization into submission. But take it easy kid, life's not about flashy abilities and high ranks. Make some allies first."

With those parting words, the Clockmaster takes out a small golden pocket watch and opens up the glass face. He slides the minute hand until it points to the VII mark, and then disappears in a brief flash of light.

Yuuri stands alone in the dim room, next to two cups: one empty and one half-full with cold tea. It's about time he returns to Universe One.

He's been chasing after the Clockmaster for long enough.


	2. Jour du Soleil

There's always rain.

It's a constant in Yuuri's life; always dripping into his flat, soaking his dog, and leaking into the third floor, second corridor of the Archive Department at the Organization's headquarters.

It's quite odd; Yuuri is an autumn child, and any rain left over from the summer season was long gone by the time he had first opened his eyes.

Presently, the rain is gentle: a warm shower that delicately wets rooftops and waters flowers.

There's a myriad of flowers in the cozy café Yuuri sits in. They range from vibrant reds to placid blues and every other shade in between, like an army of petals and pollen. Yuuri isn't surprised; he's in a city known throughout several universes as the "city of cities". It'd be natural for such a city to boast of its exceptional flora and fauna.

"You never change, huh? All this time too," Yuuri mumbles.

Even at a first glance, the city vibrates with history. Wars have been fought in this city, blood has been shed in this city: love, death, life, and hatred have all been found in this city.

Yuuri found a piece of himself he hadn't even known he lost in this city.

"Paris, France. Universe Twenty-two; the 'Universe of Lights'," says a voice from behind. "And if I hadn't known better, I would've thought you were talking to me instead of yourself. What are you doing here Yuuri?"

Yuuri whips his body around and meets a pair of twinkling hazel eyes, framed by long eyelashes and blond hair. He knows this face, this man.

"What?" says the blond-haired man. "Are you just going to stare at me?"

Yuuri's eyes soften and a small smile spreads across this face. He has to stop himself from blushing and looking away, (a force of habit from his time in the Junior Division) but nonetheless, Yuuri is happy. Pleasantly surprised, even.

"Hello Christophe," he says. "It's been a while."

Christophe closes his eyes and tilts his head toward the window, where rain is still falling.

"That it has."

* * *

Christophe is the same as always, yet different. His eyes are deeper, as if secrets swam in their depths. He's taller and not as wiry as he was in their youth. The way he walks is different too: with long, effortless strides and an upright but relaxed spine.

However, he's still Christophe. Still Chris.

As much as he has changed, Chris is still whimsical and exciting, with a darker passionate side Yuuri had always known lurked beneath the ice. His smirk is the same, and so is his talent for arbitrating.

"So tell me," Chris teases. "What's the youngest member of the S.S. doing in a simple little universe like Twenty-two?"

Yuuri groans. Definitely the same old Chris.

"Today is my day off, and I like being in Twenty-two. It's the most peaceful of the Five Hundred."

Chris clicks his tongue; blond strands of hair flying to and fro as he shakes his head.

"Exactly!" he exclaims. "Five hundred different universes under the domain of Universe One and you choose to spend your time in such a," Chris pauses. "A Frenchy place!"

Yuuri has to refrain from slapping his hand onto his face but, oh God, he's tempted to. Christophe is no idiot, but sometimes, Yuuri doubts that he has a speech to mouth filter. It's bad enough what he says while in the midst of sports.

"Chris, Twenty-two is where time splits resulted in a complete French dominance. You know this, don't play with me. And I don't recall inviting you, so why were you in such "a Frenchy place" by yourself?"

"Ah ah ah," Chris sing-songs. "That's for me to know and for you to find out. Unless," Chris bats his eyes while a provocative grin slides across his lips. "does sweet bitty Yuuri want to hear?"

"No thanks," Yuuri rejects. "I'd rather be left in peace."

"Oh?" Chris says, eyebrows arching. "But then how would I be able to tell you that there have been recent sightings of the Clockmaster?"

"That's impossible," Yuuri refuses. "The Clockmaster is very good, too good, at covering his tracks. He won't be so easily found."

"HQ wants him back," interjects Chris. "And if HQ wants something, then it will happen, willingly or not. Rumors of a tall, silver-haired man are everywhere. Even lies have a kernel of truth in them."

"That's not right," says Yuuri. "The Clockmaster has white hair, not silver."

"It's a similar shade, so I suppose people said 'white' not 'silver'. Little details like that don't matter anyways."

Yuuri glances at Chris and immediately notices the other man's too-wide, too-cheerful smile.

He's hiding something.

"Why are you bringing this up? The last time I saw the Clockmaster was years ago. Even if I wanted to go searching for him, I don't have any time."

"Just making small talk and catching up with an old friend," Chris responds. "Nothing to it."

"Please don't hide things from me. If there's an ulterior motive behind your words, I don't appreciate it."

Chris blinks. Yuuri stares.

"You're wasting your talent Yuuri," Chris says quietly. "You told me all those years ago about what happened to you when you met the Clockmaster. There are things that don't add up, and I think it's finally time we take matters into our own hands. There's no point in lazing around in other universes when there's something lurking in Universe One."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Yuuri laughs and lifts his arm to cover his eyes. "There's nothing 'lurking' in Universe One. If there was, I'm sure the other S.S. members would have found a way to deal with it."

"It's not an external threat Yuuri," Chris warns. "No matter how much you think you know about the Organization, it's not enough. Although we both might be part of the Scythes Squadron, I've been around for longer. I know things you don't."

"Chris, there's nothing I can do. I only have the bare minimum of basics required to activate a Lapse, and I have almost no experience compared to the rest of the S.S. The member closest to me in age is you, but everyone else is decades older."

"You're slipping back into that low-self esteem tic you seem to have. Where's the Yuuri Katsuki that 'took the world by storm and beat Giacometti's record for becoming the youngest Scythes Squadron member'?"

"You know that's not me," Yuuri says. "It's a headline, or the blurb of a book, or a magazine caption, but it isn't me."

Chris's expression changes into something unreadable, and very unlike him. His wide eyes are smoldering; burning straight into Yuuri.

"Sure," he says, eyes never leaving Yuuri's. "It's not you all the time, but it's a part of you. I want to see that passion again. You showed it to me after returning to Universe One all those years ago. It's not gone, is it? Though," Chris breaks eye contact with Yuuri and glances around the café. "if you stay in this dreadfully wet place any longer, the rain might wash it all away."

Chris gives Yuuri a meaningful look and adds, "You've never disappointed me, or anyone else. And I'd like to think you never will."

"I can't help it if it rains," says Yuuri. "Of all the things Arbitrators can do, controlling the weather is not one of them."

"Then I hope you find someone who can."

Chris holds out his arm and uncovers a pristine wrist-watch, laid with small diamonds and gold accents. He pops open the glass face and flicks the minute hand to the "XI" mark.

"That's too cryptic. Why can't you ever say things plainly?" Yuuri ponders.

"Well it wouldn't be nearly as much fun," Chris replies and then vanishes, leaving behind a few specks of gold dust.

Yuuri sighs and looks to a building with several arching windows and dark curtains, hiding the interior of the room from view. The curtains look expensive and soft, with careful designs stitched to the side.

"I don't have time to solve puzzles either."

* * *

It rains again.

Yuuri doesn't know what to make of Chris's words from before. Arbitrators cannot control the weather, nor do they hold any dominion over nature. It's one of the few aspects of the universes that Arbitrators are truly useless against.

Chris likes riddles and has a tendency to go for the melodramatic. Perhaps he's poking fun, but Yuuri doesn't think so. There's a burning in the sandy-haired man's eyes that Yuuri's seldom seen.

He isn't sure if he likes it.

"The first time we meet again after two years and that's all he has to say," grumbles Yuuri.

His train of thought is broken when a brutal gust nearly slams him into a nearby tree. The wind in Universe Sixteen's Berlin is particularly vicious today, and the rain only makes it worse. Yuuri's buffeted from all sides, and after a few minutes, even his thick coat can't handle the intensity of the storm.

Universe Sixteen is nothing like the benevolent Twenty-two that Yuuri often frequents. It's stormier and distressingly high maintenance; the records at HQ note that Sixteen has the highest number of routine inspections.

It's unusual that Yuuri's in Sixteen for an official assignment. Although it's inconvenient, fixing Sixteen's Time Strand is a simple (yet tedious) task.

This universe is commonly known as rookie territory; teachers send arrogant students out here in order to beat obedience into them (via mind-numbing busywork) and Junior Arbitrators use it as a training ground.

As a member of the Scythes Squadron, Yuuri had outgrown Universe Sixteen a long time ago. He was an elite now, among the top six best Arbitrators in the Organization. Well, among the top six best field Arbitrators at least. There are other Arbitrators that do not actively take assignments; instead, they reside in Universe One.

These Arbitrators usually hold a desk position. Yuuri's mind wanders off, and he thinks of Phichit Chulanot, a "Desk" Arbitrator and Yuuri's former roommate.

His old roommate hated Sixteen with such a passion that it gave even Chris shivers.

The dreariness and terrible weather of Sixteen wholly clashed against Phichit's bubbliness, and the usually cheerful boy reserved a special part of Hell for it.

 _Phichit would be teetering between cursing or trying to mother me if he saw where I was,_ Yuuri thinks with a smile. _Another friend I haven't seen for some time._

His smile fades.

"Maybe Chris is right," Yuuri admits. "Assignments like these are a waste of time. But why send me, out of all the available Arbitrators?"

Though the Organization was always understaffed, (due to the rarity of Arbitrator children) Yuuri knew they could spare a rookie or two to come and strengthen Sixteen's Time Strand.

A few people saved here and there and a jump back in time should be all it took to stabilize it.

Yuuri might be the newest and least experienced out of the six S.S. members, but he isn't weak.

Nor is he dumb.

The Organization wants to keep him busy. But why?

* * *

The fluffy blankets that greet Yuuri are a heaven sent. Cushy, and velvety, stuffed with something unnaturally soft.

Yuuri inhales contentedly and makes a note reminding himself to thank Phichit later. True friends give each other love and silky blankets, after all.

Yuuri's inky locks are still wet from the shower, but he curls up in bed anyways, dampening his pillow and the little brown stuffed poodle by his head. The sun is fading outside; an amber glow peeks through the rain and slips into his window, illuminating the room. Yuuri shifts his body, head pressed up against the stuffed dog.

"I'll be home soon Vicchan. I promise," he murmurs.

How many years has it been since he had last seen his family? Yuuri's heart sinks, and his apartment in Twenty-two suddenly seems very empty, and very cold.

* * *

Universe One's London, in all its history and complexity, had horrid weather. It wasn't like Universe Sixteen's Berlin, (Yuuri was immensely grateful for that) but the gray sky and the gray streets and the gray umbrellas were dreary and boring. Compared to Twenty-two's Paris, or even One's Hasetsu, London's weather was a jarring disappointment.

Maybe that was why the Organization had chosen to place HQ here; the monotonous climate and busy nature of London's inhabitants made it the perfect place to conduct stealthy operations. Normal humans wouldn't bat an eye at another large structure. They'd assume it was another corporate headquarters anyways.

Because of Universe One's strict regulations on the use of Arbitrator technology, Yuuri is forced to arrive at a pre-designated landing point and then make his way to Canary Wharf, where HQ was located.

From his position near King's Cross Station, Yuuri estimated it would take about a thirty-minute drive to reach the wharf. An average distance of 5.6 miles (nine kilometers, Yuuri thinks. He's in the U.K. now, and they use the Metric system, not the Imperial) but because of traffic congestion, the drive took much longer.

The polished cab Yuuri had called weaves and ducks through traffic like a black lizard, furiously switching lanes and swerving through intersections. The streets are slick from rain, but the driver pays that thought no heed. By the time he arrives, Yuuri is ghost-pale.

His legs are still wobbly as he rushes toward a nondescript gray building. Fat droplets and bits of ice are beginning to fall from thick, drooping clouds, and Yuuri's in no mood to get drenched.

Even after returning to Universe One, he still can't escape the rain.

The soles of Yuuri's leather dress shoes track mud inside as he enters. The lobby, unlike its exterior, is the antithesis of plain. A glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling; the only furniture in the massive space is a spotless reception desk and a few cushy arm chairs.

The receptionist, a redhead recognizes as Mila, turns and gives Yuuri a surprised look.

"Katsuki?" she asks, arching an elegant eyebrow. "Haven't seen you around in years. What're you doing back?"

"Hello, Mila." Yuuri smiles. "I've decided to come back and take a break from assignments. I've had quite enough of Universe Sixteen for a while now."

Mila throws her head back and laughs. The sound echoes throughout the empty lobby, loud and clear. Yuuri smiles again. He and Mila aren't especially close and they haven't interacted much, (unless you count that absolutely mortifying pole-dancing incident at Yuuri's S.S. inauguration banquet) but this is the kind of energy he misses and craves for.

The dark haired man can feel his fingers twitching in anticipation. All he has left to do now is sign in, and then he'll be able to return to Hasetsu after a spending a few nights in London.

"Since you're probably going to kill me if I keep you here any longer, I'll speed up the process and let you leave. It's not like you could go anywhere in Universe One without anyone noticing, so I'll just sign you in myself," states Mila. "A dent in the flooring is probably forming from that obnoxious foot tapping. You can hurry upstairs and make any important phone calls now."

"Thank you, Mila!" Yuuri yells breathily. He's already halfway up the stairs to the second floor.

Mila sighs and says, "Even S.S. members are impatient in my lobby. Well, I guess all Arbitrators are the same deep down." She tosses a strand of crimson hair over her shoulder and stretches

her arms. "More paperwork for me."

Yuuri can hear the slight irritation in Mila's words, but he's too excited to care.

 _I'll make a quick phone call to Phichit, then go to the London apartment when the rain slows,_ Yuuri decides. _My return should be a surprise, in order to prevent any fuss._

Phichit picks up the phone exactly two seconds after Yuuri dials his number. Yuuri knows his friend is in New York City, preserving and decoding ancient texts, so he's shocked by the Thai man's quick response.

"Hello?"

"Hi Phichit," Yuuri says.

"Yuuri?" Phichit screeches over the receiver. "You're back in One?"

"Yeah." Yuuri chuckles. "I'm in HQ, in London. Just got here an hour or so ago."

Phichit makes an odd squeaking sound reminiscent of a yelping dog and says, "London? You should have landed in New York instead."

Yuuri hums his agreement but says, "The Organization has rules, you should know this. Protocol states that-"

"All Arbitrators traveling back to Universe One must go to London and formally submit a 'sign-in' request. I know," Phichit finishes. "But maybe this one time could've been an exception. You're a member of the S.S. after all! You don't have to play by the same rules as the rest of us."

"That's not true." Yuuri frowns. "Being an S.S. member makes me more inclined to follow the rules." _Or just the ones that make sense,_ Yuuri thinks.

"Right, I know," Phichit teases, and Yuuri can feel his smirk from across the Atlantic.

Suddenly, through the phone, Yuuri can hear crashing noises, along with sporadic bursts of violent cursing. Another voice joins the first one, and the cursing increases, becoming viciously creative.

"Phichit? Are you alright?" Yuuri asks.

"Not really, no," Phichit says. "Leo must've knocked over something and now Seung-gil's pissed." The man laughs cheerfully and adds, "I should probably make sure they're okay."

Yuuri blinks and shakes his head.

"You probably should then, knowing those two."

"Will do!"

Phichit hastily hangs up the phone, and the line immediately goes dead.

By now, the rain has let up some, and Yuuri feels confident enough to borrow a car from the Organization to drive to his apartment. The commute is as excruciating as it was the first time around, however, now the streets are emptier and the time he spends on the road is shorter.

Yuuri isn't sure what time it is, but a quick glance at his pocket watch tells him it's 8:39 pm. The sun had set a few hours earlier, and Yuuri's internal clock is telling him that a bed sounds like heaven.

As he races through the streets, tires skidding along soaked roads, Yuuri's apartment comes into view.

He haphazardly parks his car and clumsily unlocks his door with a rusty key hidden under a plastic plant. Stumbling into the living room, he kicks off his shoes and flops onto the couch. The apartment is cleaner than when he had left it; stains on the carpet had miraculously been washed away, and there's no dust in sight.

Yuuri doesn't pay much attention to his various homes, only stopping by once in a blue moon because of official business. He'd never imagined that the housekeeping staff still kept up their duties.

Maybe that's what those odd deductions from his account were, Yuuri ponders.

He doesn't think about it for much longer. The night is aging, and the sky continues to shake itself loose of rain. Familiar splashes lull Yuuri into a dreamless sleep. He feels like a child again, laying on the couch, awaiting the return of an older sibling, or parent.

Though now, Yuuri isn't entirely sure of who he's waiting for.

* * *

The morning Yuuri wakes up to is dazzling. Entranced, he stares at the window, taking in the brightness of the sunlight.

 _I'm still dreaming,_ he thinks.

Yuuri has grown used to the never-ending downpours he sees daily. Until now, he's forgotten what the sky looked like without a speck of rain. Last night's drizzle was still evident, with splotches of dew on the leaves of trees and water still dripping off Yuuri's roof. However, the sheer brightness of the day leaves Yuuri breathless; even in the perpetually beautiful Twenty-two, it always rained in his presence. It's been raining for well over three-fourths of Yuuri's life, so now he doesn't hesitate to throw himself off the couch and out the door.

Yuuri's pale from a lifetime of Vitamin C deficiency, a lifetime of barely missing the last rays of an elusive sun. Now that he can bask in the sunlight, Yuuri spreads his arms and throws his head back to stare at the sky. It's wide and blue, large and free- a vast ocean of air that sits above his power and does whatever the hell it wants to.

He wants to feel this way forever.

The illusion is shattered when a high-pitched yip crashes into his eardrums.

"What?"

Yuuri looks around and finds himself flat on his back. A bushy mound of curly brown fur is latched onto his chest.

"Vicchan?" Yuuri gasps, scrambling to sit upright. Then he narrows his eyes and observes the dog on his chest. It's not Vicchan. This dog is larger, with a feistier temperament.

Yuuri sighs, but gives the dog a smile and a pat on the head.

"Who are you?" Yuuri wonders absentmindedly. A corner of his mind is irritated as if he's forgotten something, but Yuuri brushes it off and begins to look for a collar. Strangely enough, there isn't one. Most London pet-owners put collars on their dogs, to prevent them from wandering away and getting lost. This dog's owner decided to opt out.

Yuuri sits outside for a few moments longer, before deciding that familial obligations came before sunbathing. He hasn't called his family yet, and it's not like surprises were really his thing, despite yesterday's plans. The furry bundle next to him barks.

"I guess I can't leave you out here alone," Yuuri says, patting the dog's soft fur. He opens the door, ushers the poodle inside, and picks up his phone in order to dial a familiar number.

"Hello?" a female voice responds, after a few rings.

A brief moment of silence.

"Hello?" the voice repeats.

"Hello mom," Yuuri replies, a smile shaking across his lips.

"Yuuri?" the voice whispers. "Yuuri!"

Thundering footsteps can be heard on the other end of the call, and Yuuri wonders who it is. Static bursts through the phone as someone snatches his mother's mobile device, on the other end of the line.

"Yuuri? You brat, you're still here right? You're really back now?" another female voice demands.

"Mari!" Yuuri says. "Of course-"

More static is heard, and Yuuri presumes another family member has snatched away his mom's phone.

"Yuuri!" his father yells. "We miss you, come home soon!"

A round of phone-passing is done and more sentiments are said before Yuuri's mother can speak again. "Yuuri, you haven't been home for so long, and we miss you! Try asking the Organization for some vacation time and come visit us. Really, we miss you."

"Thanks, mom." Yuuri quickly wipes a tear. "Oh, and...?"

"Yes, dear?"

"How's Vicchan doing? He's doing alright isn't he?"

His mother pauses for a minute, and a tingling sense of foreboding strangles Yuuri.

"Mom?"

"I'm really sorry dear, but he was old and when he ran into the road one day-" Yuuri's mom trails off. "I'm sorry you had to hear this, right when you came back. I-"

Cold realization creeps up Yuuri's spine.

"Thank you, mom. Tell everyone I'll be okay for a while. Don't worry too much, you're retired and you should enjoy it," he interrupts, his voice shaky.

Yuuri sounds dazed, as if he'd just been smacked in the head. As he stabs his finger on the 'end call' button, the phone slips out of his hands, bouncing onto the floor.

All the strength and prestige that came with the title of 'S.S. member'; it seemed to disappear in a millisecond.

Yuuri sobs brokenly into the mysterious dog's fur, chest heaving. His glasses had been thrown across the room and now lay next to a stray pillow.

The dog whines, pawing at the wooden flooring.

"Hey, don't leave me too," Yuuri whispers. His voice is hoarse, coming out in breathy gasps. The black-haired man hugs the dog tighter. "Vicchan, I'm sorry that I can't go back in time. I'm sorry,

Mom, Dad, Mari. I'm sorry I can't go back in time."

The dog whines again, but this time, it shifts its body closer to Yuuri and licks the man's face.

The sky outside is rare: bright and sunny, but rain plagues Yuuri everywhere he goes. This occasion is no exception.

* * *

Days pass by in a bland mash of tears: both from the sky, and from Yuuri. There's no reoccurrence of that one sunny morning, but Yuuri can't find anything in himself to care. There's not much to care about nowadays, anyway. Despite his insistence on leaving London as soon as possible, Yuuri remains in his apartment, scarcely venturing out into the streets.

The poodle he had found on his doorstep doesn't leave either, though sometimes it whimpers at the door like it's waiting for someone to return. Yuuri swears to himself that he'll go ask around for its owner, but he can't let go. It's wrong to keep the dog holed up in his apartment, but fluffy ears and a wagging tail remind him of Vicchan, and how Yuuri was too little, too late. He's always been too little, too late, but now he knows that his mistake can never be redeemed.

Vicchan isn't coming back.

Yuuri doesn't know whether or not Arbitrators have souls, but he feels like a dog-shaped piece of himself is gone. Perhaps other Arbitrators (especially the other S.S. members) would laugh and tell him to get over it. Vicchan was just a dog after all, and dogs are replaceable.

 _You're an Arbitrator, the dog can't possibly be around forever,_ they'd say.

And, Yuuri thinks, they're right.

They're right, but no one had ever said that love was rational. Vicchan had been around for longer than any regular domestic dog. He'd been synonymous with the word home. Vicchan was a piece of Yuuri's soul; something he'd loved (something he'd always love).

Dogs were man's best friend, and they were Arbitrators' best friend too.

Yuuri turns his head and stares at the brown bundle on his lap. The mystery dog looks up at him and barks cheerfully, its paws batting at the air.

Yuuri chuckles faintly. The poodle is large, larger than Vicchan, but it still behaves like a small puppy- excitable and lively.

No matter how much he misses Vicchan, Yuuri knows what he has to do. He can't keep this dog forever; it's unfair to the dog's owner.

Besides, Yuuri thinks, there have been whispers of the silver-haired man again; only this time, the rumors say he's in London.

Yuuri won't admit it, but there's a lingering curiosity eating at the edge of his mind. Chris's words have come back to dig themselves into his brain. Now that the silver-haired stranger is in London, Yuuri can go and find him. Yuuri has to find him.

Yuuri's head aches and his eyes are itchy and dry, yet a flash of strength takes control of his limbs and steels his mind. It's been days upon days of grief.

 _Too much grief for a person of his caliber,_ Yuuri's common sense snaps.

For an S.S. member, this mopiness is unbecoming, and Yuuri hates how weak he feels. Vicchan isn't coming back, but there's still some things he has left. Some things he still needs closure for.

Even when he's caught in a daze of self-isolation, there's relatively little that escapes Yuuri's ears (partly because of Phichit, who insists on leaving messages and voicemails, and partly because these are rumors of interest). The grapevine amongst the higher-ups is full of juicy tidbits about the silver-haired man, with plenty of theory and speculation about his true identity.

Silver is an unusual hair color for Arbitrators, and entirely unheard of for humans- making the puzzle all the more enticing.

According to Phichit's forty-fifth text message on a Tuesday afternoon, the Archive Department's Russian Branch bet 177,000 rubles against the American Branch, who bet 4,000 dollars against the Chinese Branch on whether or not the man is a secret Arbitrator. The branches are extraordinarily competitive, so the betting pools are notorious for being outrageous.

The enigma of the silver-haired man is a point of pride. The first one to solve the conundrum is the winner, better than the rest.

Though, Yuuri muses, the competition is oddly useful.

The theories are uniquely intriguing, with all sorts of possibilities and perspectives. (Though some are better than others.)

So far, the most plausible speculations all include the Clockmaster in some way.

As the last Arbitrator in recent memory to have spoken to the Clockmaster, Yuuri was often questioned about his meeting with the old man. He'd told the Organization all the details about his experience. All except one.

The Clockmaster's son.

Yuuri's never forgotten about those fleeting words: about the Clockmaster's haunted look and his terrible loss; the loss that drove away one of the most brilliant minds the Organization had ever obtained. He's not too inclined to mention it to anyone else either; Yuuri has too much respect for the Clockmaster.

But the old man's mysterious son...

Well, Yuuri can't say he's never been curious about that.

Phichit's team in New York have been scouring old records, combing through reports that date back decades. So far, there's nothing; nothing that seems too significant. But Yuuri has his own theories.

From Phichit's numerous text messages, Yuuri has deduced that: one; the only Arbitrators listed to have white-silver hair belong to the Clockmaster's family, and two; the only living member of

the Clockmaster's family is the old man himself. Or at least that's what the official registry claims. The Clockmaster's son isn't in any records, and his existence is untraceable. If Yuuri didn't know better, he would've dismissed the rumors as nonsensical conspiracies.

But Yuuri does know better; he knows that someone extraordinarily meticulous must've searched every document possibly containing the Clockmaster's son. And then deleted that information.

The Organization's archives are kept on two mediums: electronic and paper. All reports and paperwork had been transcribed into an electronic database years before, and the database is continually updated. Files that are considered "historical artifacts" are kept in a stronghold that only high-ranking officials can access.

There's no way information about someone as relevant as the Clockmaster's son can be accidentally lost. There's no way.

Someone, either working independently or on the Organization's payroll, had eliminated every single trace of the Clockmaster's son.

Whoever did it was thorough, Yuuri thinks.

Thorough to the point where not even Phichit's first-rate team of historians and data analysts could find the information. Hell, Phichit's team had Otabek Altin, the man who developed and created the online database. Yet even with him, they still couldn't find the information.

There's a connection with this mysterious silver-haired man and the Clockmaster. Whether or not the mystery man is the Clockmaster's son is still a topic of debate, but Yuuri can't deny that the two are related. The pieces of the puzzle are coming together, slowly but surely. Yuuri just needs a piece or two.

However, there are still a few details that don't make sense. Why are sightings of the silver-haired man appearing just now? Yuuri had first heard about them from Chris, approximately three months ago. But it had been years, if not decades since the Clockmaster was an everyday topic of conversation. The Clockmaster's son would have been remembered by older Arbitrators, especially if the old man's son was born before he retired. The Clockmaster's days in the field had a near-legendary status, and people were constantly watching the man's every move.

Then there's still Chris's vague warnings and that odd assignment Yuuri had been sent to complete in Universe Sixteen. It's all very out of place.

This is one of the times Yuuri feels a strong resentment for his ranking in the S.S. As Rank Six, Yuuri's barely able to access an eighth of the information higher ranks can. Some of that is his own fault, though. Yuuri's been carefully avoiding inter-organizational politics ever since the fateful meeting with the Clockmaster. As a direct result of that, Yuuri has the least influence out of all the higher-ups and S.S. members. (He's been much more attentive towards making allies.)

For now, Yuuri will wait. He still has resources and time on his side. He'll solve this mystery and regain control of his life. First order of business: find Chris and Phichit, and ask them what they know.

A loud bark breaks his thoughts. The poodle jumps off his lap and makes its way into the kitchen, searching for a quick snack.

Oh. Yuuri blinks. Second order of business: return that dog.

* * *

A shrill ring permeates the air, rousing Yuuri from his restless dream.

"What?" Yuuri mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Why would anyone call at," Yuuri turns and squints at his clock. "3:40 A.M.?"

Yuuri picks up, but as he's about to say hello, Phichit's voice cuts him off.

"I knew it!" Phichit yells. "I knew you would pick up if I called you at this time. Ha! Seung-gil said you wouldn't but obviously, I know you better than he does."

"Phichit," Yuuri says. "Did you call me just to prove a point?"

"I called you to make sure you were alive," Phichit corrects. "And to tell you to stop leaving me on read. We're best friends Yuuri, and I want to be there to support you. Oh, and I'm going to pass the phone to Otabek, he has something to say to you."

Yuuri rubs his face and yawns. It's too early for this, but Otabek never does anything without a reason. Whatever he has to say is probably important; especially if he's willing to disturb Yuuri's sleep.

"Hello?"

"I'm still here," Yuuri responds.

"Good," says Otabek. "Phichit was telling me that one of the few messages you sent back to him included the fact that you had found a stray dog in front of your apartment."

"That's right," Yuuri confirms. "I don't really understand why this is an issue, though."

"That dog's not supposed to be there," says Otabek.

"I would suppose so." Yuuri laughs and collapses back onto his bed. "I mean, it's a stray dog."

"No." Otakbek pauses, trying to convey his thoughts in words. "It's-"

The Kazakh man stops again.

"The dog cannot be there."

"Otabek, I heard you the first time," Yuuri replies. "I know."

"No, you don't understand," Otabek says. "The dog cannot be there. Every residence an Arbitrator owns is installed with a Cube-Prototype I developed. It wards off everyone and everything you have not explicitly permitted into your home. I don't make mistakes. That dog is dangerous."

"What?" Yuuri says. "That's insane. It's just a stray dog. I know you're a genius, but geniuses make mistakes."

"I do not think so," Otabek refutes. "The Cube-Prototype would send me a distress call if it was to malfunction in any way. It's impossible that yours would break. You are an S.S. member. Your Cube is one of the best."

"Then-" Yuuri trails off, glancing at the brown lump at his bedside. "Then what is this? Why is it here?"

"Good questions. None of which I can answer."

Both men pause, enveloped in a thoughtful silence.

"I would suggest you be careful," Otabek warns. "Anything that can bypass Arbitrator technology is dangerous. Even if it is just a dog."

Otabek halts then adds, "About the silver-haired man- It would be in our best interest to worry about him too."

"You're interested in him also?" Yuuri asks. He's surprised; Otabek- cool, composed Otabek does not seem like someone who is concerned with workplace gossip.

"Of course," Otabek replies, his voice is laced with mild disdain. "I do not appreciate those who meddle with my databases."

So Otabek had arrived at the same conclusion. It's not much of a surprise, seeing that he knows the databases like the back of his hand.

"And," a voice interjects, breaking Yuuri's musings. "He's part of my team, so what I say goes. We're getting all the dirt on this guy, even if we have to upturn the entire database to do it!"

"Ah," Otabek replies. "I agree with Phichit. Although the 'upturning the database' part was not planned."

"Rough patches we'll smooth out later," Phichit dismisses. "Seung-gil has it all planned."

"I want no part in this," a faint voice calls out. The firm rejection that often accompanies Seung-gil's voice is unmistakable, even through an unstable line at 3:40 in the morning.

Yuuri takes a quick look at his bedside clock. Make that 3:53 in the morning.

"He's shy," Phichit says.

"He also happens to have more influence in the Organization than Chris, you, and me combined," Yuuri says dryly.

"Again with the details," Phichit says flippantly.

A brief cough comes from Phichit's side of the line.

"Right, right, I got it," Phichit replies. "Otabek wants to talk again."

Yuuri sighs.

"As I said before," Otabek states. "That dog is not supposed to be there. The silver-haired man appears. Then the dog appears."

Otabek is quiet for a second or so, then suddenly says, "A coincidence, yes?"

"A dog has nothing in common with the Clockmaster," Yuuri answers.

"I did not say anything about the Clockmaster," Otabek points out. "I asked if it was a coincidence. It does not sound like it. First a mysterious man, now a mysterious dog. They are in places where they should not be. It is suspicious."

Otabek is right. The Kazakh man is perceptive, and Yuuri gives him credit for that. It's simple to see why Otabek was charged with the creation of the Organization's database.

 _That and his financial ties,_ Yuuri thinks.

"You are an important member of the S.S. It would not be wise to let down your guard," Otabek cautions. "Do not change your routine. Do not let anyone else know. Let the enemy reveal themselves."

"Enemy?"

"Enemy," Otabek confirms. "For now, they are the enemy. We must assume that they are here to do harm. We will both be careful."

"What Otabek means," Phichit chimes. "Is that we don't know what's out there. Just be careful."

"You think that the silver-haired man is dangerous?"

"Perhaps," Otabek says.

Yuuri is stunned. He'd been working on the assumption that the silver-haired man was an ally or at least a harmless puzzle to solve.

"I see," Yuuri concedes. "I'll keep that in mind."

Otabek makes an approving noise.

"I'm sorry for disturbing your rest. Enjoy the rest of your night."

"No, it's alright-"

The phone beeps, signaling the end of the call. Otabek had hung up.

Yuuri groans. It's 4:12 A.M. and he can hear the beginnings of a large torrent outside. His head aches from the weight of information and the lack of sleep, yet he can't drift off. Rain doesn't provide him with the comfort it usually does, and the rumbling of thunder sounds ominous in the darkness of Yuuri's room. The dog by his bedside sleeps on.

Nothing remarkable happens in the two weeks after Yuuri had spoken with Otabek. By now his requested leave of absence is up, and Yuuri resumes his duties with the same firm diligence. Instead of returning to the field, Yuuri has applied for a temporary job with administrative roots. Mountains of paperwork enough to crush bears rain down on Yuuri every day, competing with the raging storms outside.

The weather had turned exceptionally foul lately. Any hopes for a sunny day were gone and even though it was well into March, whipping winds and snow were a common occurrence. Temperatures fluctuate from below freezing to brisk to warm, and the songbirds that roost along the streets have yet to return. London is a frozen wonderland, minus the wonder.

This is the most normal he's has felt in ages. Late-night coffee runs and a numbingly boring job are things that make Yuuri feel sane (the executive employee benefits are nothing to scoff at either).

Yuuri sees Mila more often too. Her wild red curls are often seen bobbing and weaving through offices, and of course, at the receptionist desk in the lobby. She's always chattering up a storm whenever she walks past, giving out pieces of the hottest gossip; "yes, so-and-so really did break up" or "oh no, that's completely false, darling."

Mila has a lot to say about everything, but Yuuri's not complaining. She keeps the atmosphere of the workplace alive.

There's not much to do anymore, with all the snow and wind. When Yuuri's not at work, he's at home or he's at a private training field in London HQ's Practical Wing. The most excitement in Yuuri's day comes from phone calls and the stray dog's antics. The dog, unlike everyone else, seems to like snow. It- no, he, Yuuri corrects; the dog is a he- has escaped the apartment a few times in order to roll around in the snow.

The dog had tracked mud and water all over Yuuri's carpet and furniture; the cleanup bill was astronomical.

Yuuri shudders from the memory.

According to this morning's weather report, a hail was expected to begin falling at around 7-8 P.M. this evening. The time displayed on Yuuri's oven was 4:39 P.M.

Yuuri looks out of the window. The sky is a normal slate-gray and doesn't give any signs of an impending hailstorm. The air is still, with only brief breezes, barely enough to shake a few leaves.

A dreadful, uneasy feeling bubbles up Yuuri's throat. The air feels off, somehow and the colors outside seem warped and strange. The shadows are too dark, the quiet rain too irregular.

The dog is pawing at Yuuri's couch cushions, but his ears are perked up, and his head is stiff.

The doorbell rings.

None of his colleagues have said anything about stopping by, nor does he have any appointments. Otabek had made it quite clear that only Yuuri could control who came in and out.

It can't be ordinary humans, Yuuri deduces. It can't be any co-workers either; they're adamant on propriety and if one of them had wanted to visit, they would've called ahead.

Yuuri slowly makes his way to the front door. It unlocks with a click and he swings it wide open.

The first thing Yuuri sees is a pleasant smile. The man outside is taller than him, with broad shoulders and a lean, graceful form that shows underneath his woolen coat.

Yuuri looks up, and the breath is knocked out of his lungs.

The man is unearthly and very, very beautiful. His smile is wide, and his eyes are a sparkling cornflower blue, framed by long lashes. Long silver lashes.

The beautiful stranger has fine, silvery hair that sweeps across his face in a gentle swoop.

It hits Yuuri like a bolt of lightning, racing through his veins and sizzling against his bones.

This man has silver hair. This man has silver eyelashes.

This man is the one that has haunted Yuuri's thoughts for months, the subject of bets worth hundreds of fortunes. Yuuri can see why witnesses with no interest in the Clockmaster's legacy are obsessed.

A sharp, handsome face should have clashed with the man's elegant posture. It only enhances.

"You look like a fairy," Yuuri blurts out. Then immediately regrets. He can feel his face heat up from the embarrassment. Who in their right mind tells a stranger they look like a fairy?

The man's laughter sounds like a bell tower; strong yet tinkling. Belatedly, Yuuri realizes that he should have invited the man in.

"Thank you," says the man. "Not many people tell me that."

Yuuri lowers his head and gestures into his apartment.

"I'm terribly sorry. Please come in."

"It's nothing at all." The man waves his hand in the air as if he's batting away small flies. "I'm the sorry one, for barging in like this."

This man is cheery and flippant, nothing at all the Clockmaster, Yuuri thinks. If it wasn't for the physical resemblance, I'd never be able to tell.

Yuuri hasn't seen the old man in years, but he still remembers the Clockmaster's face well. It was hard to forget someone who played large part in shaping you, after all. Traces of the Clockmaster's aristocratic nose and sharp jaw are visible on the man, along with the famous silver hair (although the Clockmaster's was more on the white side of the spectrum). It was also clear that whoever the man's mother was, she was very pretty as well.

The Clockmaster didn't have blue eyes, and his build was stockier compared to the stranger's; such features probably came from the man's mother.

"Would you like some tea?" Yuuri asks.

"No, no, I'm good," the stranger replies. "But I do have a request to make."

"I don't know if I can honor any requests," Yuuri admits. "I'll try my best to help, but it's not much."

The unspoken words are there. Who are you, and why are you requesting something from me?

"It's nothing like that," the man says. "Someone told me that they had spotted a brown poodle in the area, so I've been asking the residents about it. You wouldn't have happened to stumble upon a lost dog, no?"

Otabek was right. There was a correlation between the silver-haired man and the strange dog, though not in the way Yuuri suspected.

"Yes," Yuuri confirms. "But first," Yuuri pauses. "But first, I'd like to ask how you found this place."

"Let's skip the pleasantries," the man says, and his blue eyes are icier now. "I'd like very much to know where he is."

"He who?"

Yuuri is stalling for time, and the man can tell too (if his narrowed eyes are any indication). The sweet smile doesn't fade.

"Please. I would like to be rid of small talk and pleasantries."

"Then," Yuuri replies. "What's your name?"

"Victor Nikiforov," the man introduces. "And yours?"

Nikiforov. What was the Clockmaster's legal name? Was this it? Or something else? Yuuri's mind is in jumbles.

"I'm Yuuri Katsuki," he answers.

"Pleased to meet you."

The air in Yuuri's apartment is electrifying, cold tension bouncing off the walls and accumulating in the room. The kitchen is stifling.

"Now," Victor begins. "I'd like to know where-"

He doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, a mass of dense brown launches itself at Victor, drowning the man in fur.

"Makkachin!" Victor yells.

The dog barks loudly. Victor whips his head around and stares at Yuuri.

"Why did you keep Makkachin?" Victor asks, his tone calm and even. His eyes, however, are a different story; they flicker like raging seas, ready to lure people into the deep.

"How did you find my apartment in the first place?" Yuuri counters.

Victor's smile is replaced by a wry quirk of the lips. The message is clear: no secrets will be told today.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," Victors says. "Thank you for having me. I'll take Makkachin with me if you don't mind."

Yuuri does mind; he wants answers. Answers that only this man and his strange dog can give.

"How did you find this place?" Yuuri asks again. "I kept the dog because he wandered onto my doorstep if that's what you're asking. So please answer a question of mine. How did you get here?"

 _And who are you really?_ Yuuri wonders.

"I'm afraid that's a question I cannot answer."

After those parting words, Victor flees from the room, exiting through the door faster than humanly possible.

 _No!_ Yuuri's mind screams. _I have to catch him! He's so close!_

The Arbitrator rushes into his room and sticks his hand under the bed, tossing various objects until he finds what he needs. The item is foreign and cool against his hands, with a slender body and an odd, curved cap.

Yuuri trembles. If he uses this pen, knowing the risks...

He shakes his head. It might be the adrenaline, but Yuuri is determined to do this, risks be damned. Grasping the cap, Yuuri yanks the pen loose. It expands and changes shape until a rod with a curved blade rests against his palms.

"Screw it," Yuuri spits out. "This counts as an emergency right? I'll have Seung-gil back me up later if someone decides to take me to court."

He twists the scythe in his hands and homes into onto Victor's electrical field. Sweat dots his forehead as Yuuri forces space and time to contort around him.

His first thought is: wow, I'm out of practice. His second is that the Organization is going to kill him.

* * *

Hello! It took forever to get this posted (thanks to formatting issues) but here it is! Thank you for reading, and as always, please tell me what you think! I'd appreciate any feedback you have: critiques, feelings, anything!


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